


There Was Only You

by fandomfrolics



Category: Marvel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfrolics/pseuds/fandomfrolics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quick fic based off the the lyrics of Bloc Party's 'I Still Remember'</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Was Only You

**Author's Note:**

> Strongly inspired by Bloc Party’s ‘I Still Remember’ (this might be almost too inspired by the song and might not actually make sense unless you know the lyrics but ah well. It’s an experiment).

He still remembers the last time he saw Tony. And seeing him again here, now, kicks off a reel in his head, the memories flickering through not in faded monochrome but in a vibrant burst that makes him want to run, to increase the distance between them until the images slow and the colors trickle away again. But he’s taken just one step when Tony spots him and suddenly Tony’s right there, standing in front of him.

And he looks at him, quietly, a novel in his eyes, and he opens his mouth and says, “Steve.” And there’s something about this man saying that word, the way it pulls at his lips, crinkles around the corner of his eyes creating folds that hadn’t been there before, like the pages of a book turned down to mark all his favorites parts of the story. 

And Steve thinks, each of those lines probably do have their own story, tales of Tony’s glamorous life, the upper echelons of high society, the battles in boardrooms and bedrooms alike. Because they’re real people now, they’re grown-ups with colors muted and flames set to simmer so their hearts and minds don’t boil over and fool them into thinking they’re still children.

And like grown-ups, they clasp hands, pump and down and there’s Tony’s hand on his shoulder, a warmth that weighs much more than mere skin and bones have any right to. And still all Steve can see is fingers kept apart by scant blades of grass, ties strewn uncaringly over the ground, laughter and heartbeats like dueling pianos in his head. And a voice telling him to be brave, just be brave.

And seventeen years later the voice comes bursting forth again, a torrent that’s been building behind a hastily constructed dam, waiting anxiously for the chance to finally finish the story and start a new one. There’s a cacophony in Steve’s head now, a crescendo of recollections and regret and it pushes and pushes until it makes its way through his wires and forces itself out of his lips and all he can say is 

“I should have kissed you by the water.”

and Tony’s eyelids fly apart and his fingers squeeze tight and the crinkles are different now, make Steve itch to wipe them away. He reaches up a hand and presses at the skin and Tony just stares. And Steve thinks he can see the moon again, the waxing gibbous they’d squinted at until it glowed full, and he’s lost in the memories of silver light playing off glinting water and uncreased skin, of a fire burning from his hair to his toes, and when the mouth presses against his, he blinks twice, thrice, because this is a dream oft-repeated and eventually he always wakes up. But he’s blinking and blinking and still there’s a pressure on his lips, fingers threaded through his hair, and the present tangles with the past as a murmur breathes hot against his skin.

“I still remember.”


End file.
